


A True Gentleman

by whopooh



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Aftermath of Shenanigans, F/M, MFMM Smutuary, what do you mean awkward Phryne Fisher doesn't do awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17922590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/pseuds/whopooh
Summary: Phryne and Jack are at Aunt Prudence's for a party. So what if they snuck away to the library for a little while? It's not like anyone would notice.A smutuary fic for the prompt: Study.





	A True Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> It's a tiny bit late, I know, but happy birthday belatedly, dear Fire_Sign!

“Miss Fisher, how lovely to see you again!”

Phryne has just closed the heavy, brown double doors to the library behind her and has her goal set on Aunt P’s guest bathroom—Lord knows she needs it—when an enthusiastic male voice stops her. She stiffens, turning around slowly as she plasters a smile on her face. 

She gives herself a quick mental once-over. She knows she has her hair under reasonable control, but what about her lipstick? Likely long gone; it isn’t like Jack is a reluctant kisser. 

Her dress? Probably only a little wrinkled from when he pushed it aside for better access. _That man and his hands_. They’re a true blessing. Well, and other parts of his body as well, if she’s being honest.

Her gloves? Collected in one hand, only a little worse for wear, but unfortunately crammed together with the knickers she had decided not to put on until she’d cleaned up in the bathroom. 

Her make-up? She doesn’t even dare to think about it.

Facing the corridor and leaning back slightly on the heavy library doors, hands hidden behind her back, she meets the eager blue eyes of a well-dressed middle-aged man with a monocle and a distinguished bearing.

“Lord Granstone," she replies, “what a lovely surprise!”

Luckily, he isn’t a close enough friend of the family to know how her voice rises dramatically when she’s lying. 

He smiles widely. He doesn’t seem to find anything about her behaviour odd.

“Your aunt tells me you have taken an interest in gardening, Miss Fisher. I have been meaning to ask you about that,” he continues.

Phryne’s smile grows a little bit wider; she is rather certain it’s bordering on manic by now.

“Gardening?” she answers, internally wondering if this is her aunt scheming to make Lord Granstone take an interest in her. “I… I dabble,” she answers, truthfully.

“I myself am the Chairman of the Society for Galanthophiles. Perhaps we could be of interest to you? It’s a very recently formed organisation, not at all as venerable as the Dahlia Society, of course, but rather lively since love of the small botanical snowdrops has started to increase in Australia lately…” 

As he continues talking, Phryne’s mind wanders back to the room behind her. Has Jack managed to sort himself out? She had been rather cruel to his waistcoat, she fears, and does he realise he has to check for remnants of her lipstick? How many minutes had she asked him to wait before heading out? Surely, he will hear their voices and wait longer?

A small sound answers that question. Jack is keeping to the plan; leaving the library three minutes after her. He is also opening the library door right into them, shoving Phryne slightly to the side. 

“Miss Fisher!” Jack exclaims, hesitating, but realising decorum demands he not ignore her companion. “And Mr…”

“Lord Granstone. And if I’m not mistaken you must be the Inspector Robinson Mrs Stanley raves about so often.” He holds out his hand for a shake. If Jack hadn’t been so distraught by the gesture, he might have been surprised at that assessment of Mrs Stanley’s interest in him.

Instead, Jack looks at the man’s outreached hand, desperation in his eyes. He flicks his gaze to Phryne, his face otherwise betraying nothing. Both of them remember exactly where his hand has been not fifteen minutes ago, and that all he had to clean himself up with was a small handkerchief. 

Jack breathes heavily before he seems to come to a decision; he coughs into his right hand and apologises profusely, explaining he is coming down with a cold and that he doesn’t want to plague anyone else with his germs, if Lord Granstone would be kind enough to excuse him.

The older man beams at him.

“That is what I call a true gentleman!” he says. 

Jack’s ears are definitely reddening at the tips. Phryne can practically see his brain turning, thinking about all the thoroughly ungentlemanly things he has just been doing to her. Where his hands have been. And his mouth. And her hands. Well, to be fair, her mouth too. She bets he is still slightly sweaty. 

Without preamble she has a sudden flashback to how his sweaty skin tastes on her tongue and she almost groans. Jack must have noticed, as he gives her a chastising look. She has seen it before; it is the one that wonders how he got into this situation and immediately decides it is because he knows Miss Fisher. She sends him a look in reply that tries to convey _it cannot all be my fault now, can it_?

Phryne has an intense longing for that guest bathroom. She can feel the warm fluids slowly trickle down her thighs; she presses her legs together in a vain attempt to stop them. If she’s not careful, they may stain her dress. Oh well—she rolls her eyes at herself—it’s not like it would be the first time.

“The Inspector is a gentleman. He is also a man who loves to study the classics. Which is why we were in the library,” Phryne says in what she is fairly certain is a convincing manner. As she brings her hands in front to gesticulate, she suddenly realises what she is holding and drops it in surprise. 

Oh no.

No no no no.

This can’t be happening.

On the floor in front of her lies two delicate gloves in white lace, and a pair of peach coloured silk knickers. 

A very quick glance Jack’s way shows her his embarrassment is practically radiating off him in waves. Both gentlemen naturally move to help the lady pick up her things, as that is what a gentleman does. Phryne has no choice but to be faster than, well, Jack Robinson.

“Oh, silly me!” she exclaims, in one quick swoop scooping up the offending garments, lifting her skirt, securing her knickers in her garter and adjusting the skirt back down. _Thank God Jack hadn’t felt the need to relieve her of her stockings today._

Both gentlemen stare at her. 

“Just a small handkerchief.” 

She says it with such conviction it seems Lord Granstone is ready to disregard his senses and the very reasonable objection handkerchiefs usually aren’t made of that kind of silk. Or in that size. 

He finds his bearings almost immediately.

“What a splendid thing to do at a party, sneaking away from the frivolity to do some reading,” he says, and Phryne can detect neither sarcasm nor ill-will in his voice. It seems he is a genuinely affable man. “Though I hope you didn’t come too close to Miss Fisher, Inspector.”

Both Phryne and Jack look at him dumbfounded, before he smiles his friendly smile again.

“With the head cold, I mean. It would be a pity if Miss Fisher’s studying would cause her to get ill.”

“Of course,” Jack chokes out. He hesitates for a second and then nods politely at the other man. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Granstone, but I’m afraid I have to–”

He doesn’t get further before a stern voice comes from the door to the drawing room.

“Phryne! Inspector! I was starting to wonder if we had lost you.”

Aunt P’s eyes burrow into Phryne’s, her eyebrow raised rather spectacularly. _I am onto you_ , her expression clearly states.

“Aunt P! I was just on my way to the ladies’,” Phryne says innocently.

“For half an hour?” Mrs Stanley asks.

“Oh no, that must have been the studying,” Lord Granstone amiably contributes. Aunt P gives him an assessing look.

“Studying?”

“Your distinguished niece withdrew for a while to the library, Mrs Stanley. I am sure she is always eager to learn new things. But really, I feel bad now for having been selfish enough to keep you so long. Please don’t stay on my account, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne feels a little bad for skiving off and leaving Jack, but she can feel the fluids reaching her knees and she _has_ to go. With a last nod and smile to her company she walks away, only slightly awkwardly as she tries to still press her legs together somewhat. She is sure she is rather pulling it off; she is also sure her aunt doesn’t miss a trick.

Just before she rounds the corner into blessed freedom, she hears Lord Granstone’s voice.

“This poor young man, on the other hand, is coming down with a head cold. We should really see to it he gets an eggnog with brandy; that always does the trick for me.”

As she casts a glance towards them, she sees the lord grab Jack by the shoulder to lead him into the drawing room. Aunt P stays behind for a second, and so it is not just Phryne who sees what has so far been hidden: Jack’s collar is slightly askew, poking up over his jacket, and on the side of his neck above it is a distinct smudge of red lipstick. 

Aunt P stiffens. Phryne has stopped her motion—she can’t just walk away from this—and their eyes meet for a very short moment, Prudence’s eyes narrowing slightly at her wayward niece. Then she is moving, faster than Phryne has ever seen her, putting her hand on Lord Granstone’s upper arm.

“Oh, how could I forget, Lord Granstone! I’m afraid I have to steal the Inspector away from you for just a moment. I have some business that requires his urgent attention.”

As Lord Granstone agrees Phryne sees her aunt practically manhandling Jack, managing to extract him from the door without allowing him to turn his back towards the party for even a second. As she drags Jack the other way down the corridor, Phryne finally finds it in her to continue her walk towards the guest bathroom, stifling an inappropriate giggle at Jack’s confused look.

Aunt Prudence will surely speak her mind to Phryne the next time they meet in private—excruciating and vehemently, if Phryne is any judge. 

But today, today Prudence Stanley is a study in heroism.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been far too long since I wrote fic, and I'm really happy I managed to finish this silly short one. Thank you to aurora_australis, bunny extraordinaire and a patient, punny beta.


End file.
